My Punishment – Not What I Thought It Was

I guess I never told you what my punishment was for bonding with Joe. There were a couple.

He hit me. In the face. Mercilessly. Until I cried. Then he held me and said he loved me. He does this nowadays, tells me after we’ve had sex or a hitting scene that he loves me even though he hurt me. He also said he wouldn’t fuck me that day – and he didn’t.

When we did fuck, we used the new toys. Or more spesifically he used them on me. I think I was hurt. I think not only talking with this other man, but bonding with him and him making me feel… special, desired, painless had affected me, shaked me to my core. I actually didn’t want to have sex with Wonderboy. I couldn’t feel anything.

I really don’t feel like describing it more. The next time was okay, because I did all the work on top and somehow could get lost in the moment. But the time we had to have sex because of the ovulation. I just wanted to say no, when he was on top of me putting his hand around his cock and guiding it in. I wanted none of it and still I stayed silent. He got me off by forcing his whole hand in my mouth. The small moment there was intense. But although I kinda had an orgasm (hah), I still didn’t feel anything. Anything. The cock inside me felt just mostly uncomfortable probing my folds. It made me feel nausea.

I’ve been wondering why it’s so hard for me to say what I want and don’t want. We always come back to this, no matter how far I think I’ve come. I don’t say it. Feminist Sub once said to me that maybe I’m too hard on myself. After yesterday I think I might have been. Or more to the point, we both have been.

When he hit me as a punishment for talking with Joe, as I started to cry or a little before, I thought about safewording. It wasn’t what I wanted. It was too real. He was hurt. He felt angry. I was very, very hurt and fragile for thinking the things I had. I felt he broke me somehow as I started to cry. It wasn’t any scene in my head. That is a huge problem. And I didn’t safeword, because I thought it would be odd and he wouldn’t understand, because it wasn’t a scene and we weren’t having sex. I feel like crying when I read that.

I did confront him about it later on. He said he wasn’t angry and that it was play to him. But I said I didn’t feel it. Just like I don’t feel him owning me in any way now. I don’t feel anything, but resentment. Resentment for him not owning me and being my master. Resentment for him not making me pregnant. Resentment for his building emotional problems, which make my life miserable.

The thing is. Yesterday he got angry to the point of absurdity, because I had played on the computer the whole night. But he hadn’t asked me, if he could play or even said he’d like to play. At one point I asked him, if he’d like to play, but he didn’t answer. According to him it was too late. So, then came the accusations of my emotional incapability. How I don’t take his emotions into consideration. How I should’ve asked him what he wanted to do! Because I didn’t, it was all my fault.

Okay, so he’s not taking the anti-depressants anymore. I asked him, if he could see this just as one of the outcomes of that. He said he’s been more happy now, without the pills, and was happy before he got home. Before he tried to hug me, but I was more interested in doing the dishes than hugging him.

I know what’s wrong here. I know it. But I can’t say it.

Finally he confessed that he didn’t know, why he couldn’t ask me to get to play. Why he was so afraid that I would reject him that he didn’t even ask. And I was like Aha! This is your problem with everything! With sex too! You never initiate, because rejection is so scary to you. But It didn’t go anywhere from there. I said I know I’ve been off. We had sex the day before, the ovulation sex, and I just didn’t feel anything. That must have left a mark on his heart. I said this to him and he nodded. He was crying, curled up in the music room sofa and he had been there brooding the whole night. I had no idea that he was so bent out of shape, because he said nothing about it to me! I hugged him, caressed his hair… and didn’t feel anything. I felt no real tenderness or love or anything. I just didn’t feel anything. But I wanted him to feel better.

I don’t know how to tie this all together. I decided to go through the emotional loop with Joe, one which has absolutely nothing to do with Joe and everything to do with my need to save every man that’s ever been an clueless, fragile asshole. So, I masturbated to him. Oh yeah. Great – you’d think, right? If you’re infatuated with someone. But no, I didn’t feel anything except huge emotional burden. Like my heart jumps, when I hear about him. I mean come on, the guy is just some guy! Why this turmoil over nothing?

I did come after two hours of trying, but I had to shift my fantasies to Wonderboy and back, because it didn’t work otherwise. Which I think is kind of reassuring. Anyway, it seemed to help. My heart’s not so attached to Joe anymore. I remember the horrible gut wrenching feeling when you really like someone and you’re starting on a relationship or just dating and then you suddenly realize your infatuation is fading. You see all his flaws and wonder, how you ever could think you liked him that much. This is a feeling I get every morning, when Wonderboy kisses me as he leaves to work. I wake up, don’t remember who he is and have this sort of revelation that I’m with the wrong man. It breaks my heart, because I don’t feel anything towards him. Then I remember, and it only leaves a certain shadow in my heart. What if one day the love’s gone?

But this, my experiment on going through the emotional cycle, it was helpful. It helped me. I realized how it’s nto a bad thing to let the emotion go. How I’m not rejected, if I do so and don’t really lose anything. Tears welled up in my eyes and I almost, almost, could feel the very palpable sorrow that wells behind the resentment and behind the not feeling anything. And POOF it was gone. I wasn’t ready to let go of this feeling. I want him to make me.

I wonder, if something like this would help us. The simplest things seem to work. And I’m relieved to say that all this sound familiar, so this is probably something that every d/s couple has to face at one point and also another. My mind understand’s the stress we’re under. My heart cannot forgive for him for making me face this. I don’t know how to change that.

He put the collar on me to remind me that I’m owned, but when the sex was bad and I was so out I couldn’t even say it, I realized I needed him to take it off. He took it off immediately, when I asked anxiously.

What can I do to make things better? he asked and I answered, Nothing. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.

I just need to fuck and come inside you?

Yes.

And he turned me around, fucked me from behind and came in under a minute. I on the other hand – - didn’t feel anything.

So here we are.

In The Dark

Wonderboy is stretching naked beside me.

Can I touch it? I ask.

He hasn’t been in the mood for sex after yesterday, but neither have I. I still am drawn to him in a way I can’t explain and in a way he can’t know of.

No, he answers and keeps on stretching his leg muscles.

I sigh and exclaim that he never lets me touch it!

After a whil he lies on the bed while I’m looking for something on the floor.

You can touch it now, he says a couple of times, because I don’t hear him at first. I jump on it.

Just a little then, he says I think to let me know that he doesn’t want a blowjob, a handjob or a job of any kind. He’s just doing this for me. To make me happy.

I lay my head on his tummy, it’s softer an fuller than before, and I put my hand gently on his cock. It’s soft and fragile and small. My hand covers it like a planket. Suddenly I feel tears welling up. My fingers are quivering on his silky skin. He’s so big and unreachable. When we’ve kissed, I’ve felt no connection to him. I’ve been so far away, but I think that it was him who drifted off first. I just followed.

Oh honey, he says in a tender voice and then adds: what are you doing down there?

I’m crying, I answer and sob. The tears roll on my cheeks and my nose, they roll onto his tummy and my hair.

I rise to hug him and he hugs me tight. But I don’t feel like telling him I love him. I haven’t felt like that in a while. My resentment is everywhere in me. I am not getting what I need.

After a while I have turned the light of and we lie in the dark next to each other. He’s usually sleep by now, but he isn’t because he has to work tomorrow and he’s stressed about that.

Since you’ve been… having problems… and trying to sort things out… you haven’t really owned me, I say. You haven’t commanded me or anything. You haven’t really been my master.

Yeah, he admits, I guess so.

But I always own you, he says. I moan silently. His words make my heart flutter and my cunt pulse.

Really?

Yeah, really.

But what if I don’t feel it? I say.

I don’t remember exactly how he responded. It was late and in the darkness our words seemed less serious.

I just need to feel it. I realized what had been making me so unhappy. Why I’d been so unreachable during sex too. I wanted him to tie his ownership around me like a rope. I needed to feel the sting and restriction of the rope. I was lost.

I’m lost, I told him, without your ownership.

I still own you. You’re still my slave, he said. No matter what.

I sighed a sigh of happiness. No matter what, I echoed.

Are you going to do that thing we talked about with your work?

I guess I have to, he answered.

It’s hard to be a grown-up, I said.

I don’t want to be a grown-up, he laughed.

Me neither, I answered.

Then we both laughed. And then we went to sleep. Together. No other men anywhere.

Ps. Also – I’m ovulating today. Although I’m quite emotionally in a knot right now and don’t excessively desire sex like I usually do, I think the need to be infatuated has a lot to do with ovulation and also – the desire to get pregnant. This is something I rarely see talked about. I really want to get pregnant and so I’m finding ways to do exactly that… All the ways. This obviously is just my interpretation of the situation. This has happened before – and also on lots of occasions I’m too embarrased to tell you about, but they are quite miniscule ot be frank. Just like this one.

So… I should know better?

Getting Rid Of Your Virginity

Reading Emily Nagoski’s How to break your hymen and the comments has made me think.

I remember the fear very well. I think it’s inside me even now. The fear of being penetrated. The terror of being hurt by something that should be pleasurable.

I remember how hollow I felt after the first time I had sex. I didn’t feel anything. There was nothing there that I enjoyed and there was nothing there in my partner that could understand me – reach me – after the fact. He was just taken aback that I didn’t enjoy it even though he didn’t do much in the way of foreplay or talking for that matter.

This was also reminded to me by Joe, when we talked. He confessed to losing his virginity to a girl at the age of 19 and said it didn’t go well. When I was younger, and even in the not so recent past, I never realized how terrifying it must feel that there’s this very real possibility that you couldn’t perform. That all the sex is dependant on your physical functioning. The other thing I never realized was how frightening it is to be scared of not pleasing your partner.

I remember Wonderboy telling me, how he was scared that he wouldn’t last long enough or couldn’t please his partner.

And I remember the first time I was really worried about getting my partner to come – when I was having sex with a girl. I knealed in the foot of the bed to lick her pussy and suddenly realized, how incredibly intimidating it was that I was about to try to please her. I didn’t know her! She could be totally different from me! She did come and I was washed over with relief. I got to experience what it feels like to have to perform in a different way than I’d experienced in the past – not as the sexual object but as the perfomer. I also got to experience, how it feels that your orgasm is taken for granted. She hardly touched me, and although it was fun and I came, I felt like I’d been used to perform the whole sex.

Now, with my experiences in mind, I could totally relate to Joe’s story about his total inability to perform, when it was his first time. And he carried this knowledge of himself as the failure with him to this day. But when he met this woman again last summer, he decided to face her and tell how he felt. As he did tell her it had been his first time, that he’d been nervious and frightened, the woman started to cry. She had blamed herself for ruining everything. She had blamed herself for being no good at sex.

What good did it do for Joe to keep quiet about his virginity? He failed miserably, because of the incredible stress – and also I think because of the lie. He needed to try to keep pretending, because she didn’t know. So they both suffered.

Wonderboy didn’t tell me he was a virgin, either. I suspect I’ve slept with one virgin before him, and I didn’t know about that either. My first partner knew full well that I had no experiences. I was 15, he was 27. I wasn’t at all ashamed, but I can imagine the shame building up. I wanted to get rid of my virginity and I was only 15. What about at 19… or 23?

I wish I’d known about Wonderboy. I could’ve taken him into consideration. I could’ve been more communicative, more gentle, more compassionate. But I didn’t know to be. There was still something magical there when we met. His touch was like a flame on my skin. He found me, he felt me and he heard me. It was something I’d never felt with a man before. That hasn’t changed. His touch made me suspect that he’d actually had loads of experiences. I thought he’d had a girlfriend who had trained him.

When I found out, I almost didn’t believe him at first. I couldn’t believe he would just be so attuned with his body, with touching mine, if he’d never done it before. After the first few times, after confessing he’d been a virgin, he started to have problems with keeping an erection. It’s clear to me now, as it was then, that this was emotional. Sex is not some separate thing our bodies perform. This was a thing I argued with Joe about. He was telling me, with different anecdotes about his life, his cheating on The One True Love, his 3 year celibacy that followed, with now paying Thai girls to like him, how incredibly hurt he’d been. And he still couldn’t accept that the problems he was having with sex were most likely because he was emotionally so broken.

There are things, hurtful things, that we believe about the world. One of them is that not having sexual experiences is a bad thing. One of them is that we think there are certain ways we need to perform and certain acts we need to do for sex to be real somehow. And one of them is that we can separate our body from our soul. This is where sex starts to mean performing and not playing, finding out, exploring and experiencing connection. We wouldn’t want to hug a stranger or possibly wouldn’t be very compassionate about their troubles. Why would sex be any different? Why do we expect our bodies to function in a situation where they never naturally would?

I feel so sad about my first time, about Wonderboy’s lack of trust in me the first time and about Joe’s experience the first time. And I know the only thing that could’ve changed everything… is communicating. But we just didn’t have the courage and the ability then. I hope we do now.

Our bodies remember everything we’ve ever felt. Every little stab, kick, trauma or loving embrace. There’s no way to override yourself. And that’s what your history is. A part of yourself.

A Night With Another Man

Guess what I got for Christmas? Nipple clamps and a collar. A collar to call my own! I also got a leash and I sure need one. Because I spent a night with another man.

The story starts when I couldn’t sleep on Friday night. I felt exhausted, but also really tense. My body was acting out and my ovary was hurting – probably because I took the last of the hormones at least 6 hours late, because I’d stayed at my friend’s house. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep, it was almost the Christmas morning we’d been waiting for and preparing for. I was just putting my game out of business when suddenly this icon appeared. Wonderboy had left Steam open and his workmate was messaging him. But I was the only one there.

Now this was a guy, we’ll call him Joe, that I’d heard so much about. I’ve heard about his trips to Thailand – and what that entailed. I’d heard about his commitment issues. I knew a lot about him. So, I kind of felt like I knew him.

I messaged him back stating that it was only me the bad wife who couldn’t sleep. We started discussing games and suddenly we were having a real conversation. He opened a bottle of wine and we started finding songs for each other on the Youtube. It was just what I needed, though I did feel a little guilty. I knew that I should be sleeping so I could do nice things with Wonderboy the next day. I also sort of felt that I shouldn’t be talking with his workmate through the night. Especially since we talked about love and sex and whatnot. But I was so happy that there was someone there, awake and lonely and suffering from anxiety like I was.

It was also… very intriguing. I’d heard so much about his problems that I already had a lot to say to him. Sure enough he started opening up to me, which I took as a sign of loneliness and also maybe as some kind of cry for help. I also wondered a teensy bit why he’d tell me secrets, which he swore me to not tell Wonderboy. I didn’t answer those lightly, but I did promise after a while. I thought about the fact that he couldn’t see me and didn’t in fact have to deal with the reality  that I am his workmate’s wife. Although we did discuss that also in the way that I told him how incredibly happy I am (and also ended up eluding to the fact that Wonderboy’s a superior lover to any I’ve encountered… but that was his take on my words more than my own doing).

The problems obviously hit me, when Wonderboy woke up and I was still up and in full discussion with Joe. Wonderboy was hurt and angry. He didn’t like me bonding with a guy, let alone his friend from work. He was also sad, because he realized I’d have to sleep through Christmas eve and we’d had a bunch of plans. We were home alone, had ditched every gathering and relative party to just be together. And I had spent the night with another man.

I don’t know how I feel now. There’s been so much that’s been under the waters and it only started coming up now. Why I felt so lonely that I spent the night with Joe, who really, doesn’t mean anything to me, even though Wonderboy was home. Joe could’ve been anyone (and I suspect the same applies the other way around). I just needed someone to take my mind off everything. He did and I’m thankful of that. But I’m also remorseful, because I did something that hurt Wonderboy. I am not to do it again, to have discussions with Joe in any way, and I also kind of feel sorry for that.

That I think is problematic. I’ve turned myself inside out to see what lingers there, but I can’t be sure.

Joe was hurting. He needed somenone so bad. I could relate. I wanted to help. But he also sounded a lot like this guy I used to date, a really emotionally fucked up guy the Music man. There was something very recognisable in Joe. Something very cute in his fragility and defenciveness. And he really didn’t want me to go.

I’ve had this problem I think I’ve mentioned before that I desire to see myself through other’s eyes. My fantasies are seen through the male gaze and my infatuations spring from seeing myself with someone else’s eyes. I really liked what I saw through his. There was no pain about infertility there, because I never would’ve told him. There was true romance in the woman who discussed with Joe. The thing is I think this is what many people find attractive about new partners. The unknown in themselves. They get to recreate themselves. I got to shed the heavy burden I’ve been under for so long it takes my breath away. He was probably showing his best face to me, the face that was his fragile, lonely self. I’m not as clueless as to say the real self, because his words made me wonder, if this was actually a tactic of his to get girls to like him. I’ve met guys like that after all.

But I haven’t felt like that in a while so long I can barely grasp it.

You understand that I’m facing emotional turmoil the size of an A-Bomb right about now?

My feelings are vigorously trying to free me from this binding relationship. This hurt.

Hurt people hurt people, he said. I was like yeah. It struck me somehow. I could understand him so well and in doing so I somehow understood myself better too. Why can I only see myself, when I’m reflected on someone else?

I feel I’ve been hurt enough now.

Today we tried to discuss things with Wonderboy. He stopped taking his anxiety medication before Christmas, because it made him unable to come. It was too much pressure, when he knew I’d be ovulating soon – even though I suggested he stay on them and we let this month pass by. I’d already done the hormones so he had to do his share.I was trying to tell him how trapped I felt, how I felt that no one would listen to my pain. All I get as an answer is Yeah, it’s bad, but you have to go through with it.

I don’t know what I want anymore, I said.

But do you want a baby? he asked me.

I didn’t answer for a long time. Then I said, I don’t know. I feel like I can’t carry the burden anymore. It’s too much for me to bare.

I thought about carrying a newborn in my arms, I have the memory of carrying Faith’s child in my arms and cradling him to sleep, and thought that I could never give that dream up. Then I thought about having an older child, in his reflection. I couldn’t imagine it nor could I imagine being pregnant. I don’t believe in it, yet again. I don’t believe we can.

But wouldn’t you be devastated, if we didn’t go through with this and you never had a child? Wonderboy asked.

I didn’t answer to that.

Come here, come cuddle with me, he said.

Do you want a child? I asked him in return against his chest where my tears were rolling now.

I don’t know, he said. I want one, if you want one.

And that is the line between us. That is why I feel so alone. I am alone. With the pain and the need. Just me.

But will you carry your share, love them and take care of them? Will you be a real father to them? I asked still.

I will, he said, but then added, I’ll be a lousy father.

You’ll be a great father. You are so great with me.

No, I won’t. If I can’t even face everyday life, how could I be a good father?

But I’m broken too and I still think I can make a good mother.

You know when you put ginger bread in the oven? You know when there’s a difference, if it’s almost cooked or if it’s plain dough?

You mean you’re the dough and I’m almost cooked?

He nodded and tears rolled onto his shirt. He took a planket and dried them off, such a giant he is.

And we’re right back where we started at, he added. I’m not on the meds anymore, my doctor has changed and I can’t get a therapist, because I live so far away from where I work. It’s just not possible.

So, I decided. He’ll not resign, but he’ll take any old job he can find here. Any. When it ends as it surely will, they are so short term now, he’ll get by with the financial aid and his nest egg. And then he can go to therapy, because he will be living here and he will have time. And then, maybe one day, he’ll feel that he can be a good father. Just like I know I’ll be a great mother and a great wife. Even though I get infatuated with other men, shitty or nice, bright or gentle and sometimes end up hurting the ones I truly love.

You ever fear that he’d cheat? Or you? Joe asked me when I told him I don’t want anyone else, and that he could get past his past cheating too. We are not the mistakes we made in the past, I made my point. I don’t know, if he believed me there. But he did believe my answer:

Of course. All the time.

And that’s all I have to say right now. I’m afraid of what I’ll do, if I’m pushed long still. I feel the need to wear my collar all the time, not just when he shows me my place. When he decends upon me and punishes me. I need his hand to be adamant. I need him to save me. And that is not a good thing. I shouldn’t need a sign – I already have it. I should be my own saviour.

But love is a fickle thing. So so am I.

In Treatment – But Who?

The first thing today to make me smile: love face slapping sex stories. That’s what someone looked for and ended up here. I hope you’re happy about the things you found!

There’s been so much turmoil over the last couple of months. Wonderboy put it like this in the car: We live in the middle of nowhere, we have no child, I’m depressed, you’re depressed and it’s the fucking worse weather! He said this trying to make out the motorway in sleet and rain in pitch black and with a broken thingy (I honestly don’t know the word) so we couldn’t wash the window without stopping and throwing some water on it. Makes for a hell of a homecoming, I’m telling you, and with a medicated man might I add. Not easy.

SSRI meds work differently for different people. So far my Wonderboy has been irritated – He actually yelled at me for speeding, which made me really upset. He never yells. – tired, cranky, more anxious and somewhat lost. He didn’t know, if he was still hungry or not when we ate dinner. The thing that worries me – and I think him too – most is that serotonin meds tend to fuck up the libido. He told his doctor that we’re trying for a baby and the doctor prescribed them anyway. We talked about it, but there’s nothing we can do but wait and see what happens.

I’m already tired of this post. It’s been a hard day and even though I want to share it, I’m really not in the mood to live through it again.

Why can’t I write about something nice? Well… Actually, I can.

Yesterday we both spent with our mothers and late at nigh when we got home I was tipsy and he was feeling odd from the meds. We started cuddling after watching something stupid but entertaining and like so often nowadays his kisses were sort of quick and evasive, if kisses can be like that. I lost my temper after a while. How am I supposed to get into it, if he’s just pecking me quickies, but won’t let me go either? Who wants to just keep on pecking for half an hour? I asked a bit irritated, Are you in a hurry? He laughed a bit, but I think after a while he got it. I was ready to just leave the thing alone and go do something else, but he started kissing me again. His kisses changed, when he started just scooping with his tongue down my throat like he was forcing my tongue aside. It’s such a turn on even if it would be bad kissing without the essence of d/s. But there is the d/s.

Oh my. We just got really carried away just by those kisses. He fucked me senseless without any other foreplay for either of us, called me his whore and then – then! – told me how he likes to hurt me and hurt me a bit, just a little bit. But it wasn’t the hurting, it was the fact that he told me he wants to hurt me. I just go crazy, when he talks to me, when he tells me what he likes and what’s my place. I came three or four times and we cuddled and kissed passionately even after sex. I was still quivering and breathing raggedly. Where had that sex drive been? Where had sex like that been?

I dunno. But I think him starting his medication and getting on the track for therapy has really helped, even though he’s hard to handle with the first side effects. And I was tipsy – so not at all worried about the neighbours hearing or being really hurt or not getting enough air, when he suffocated me. I just took it all in.

Oooh. I wish I was still there. But that was yesterday. Today we had to talk about our relationship, hardships and just plain cope with the routines. He went to bed at 7.30 pm tired but probably a little less anxious. It helps to let the bad thoughts out. It’s better to talk about them, even angrily, than to just harbour them. They won’t go away on their own. I’m happy he’s starting therapy. But I expect not to be yelled at ever again, and I told him as much. A half an hour of evasive manouvers later – you were as bad when you started, you were speeding, I was just reacting – he apologised finally. If you hurt me, I get hurt, I said to him. No excuse will change that. That, my friends, is what I learned in therapy.

Until next time.

A Quick Update

Wonderboy got him some medicine! I haven’t talked to him yet, but he texted me letting me know. I hope they’ll help him tangle his fears and live his life more to the fullest.

Also, while he didn’t fuck me friday night, I woke up to being molested from the back and the sex was absolutely amazing. Same thing on sunday. I guess booking the doctor’s appointment already helped him some. Let’s see what happens now that he’s on the pill.

A Lock, a Key and – a Keyholder

So much has happened I don’t know where to start. Well I do know where to start. I’ll start with the racy stuff to keep you entertained, because this will boil down to emotional turmoil and you know it.

Wonderboy came unannounced on my face. He had not been able to come or to have sex with me the whole week and didn’t come from fucking me. I made the mistake of stating do whatever you want. He did at that. When we tried this the last time, and for the first time, I only enjoyed it. I even wrote about how it didn’t feel degrading to me at all.

Well it did now! I wasn’t at all prepared for it. My eyes were open and really, I just wasn’t expecting it. I felt… desecrated. I got hurt. The stuff was all over my face, my left eye was positively glued shut and it was also in my hair. I just leapt to the bathroom to try to save my eye. I know from my friend’s experiences that not only does that shit hurt, when it hits the eye, it can also lead to an eye infection.

I felt he had walked all over my just to get to his desired end point. I felt that coming on to my face was not in our prenegotiated blanket consent. I really do need for him to ask. So, I addressed it. I said he has to say it out loud. He can say Now I’m gonna come on you’re face you filthy little whore, if that’s the way he likes to play it, but he cannot surprise me with it ever again.

I feel I’ve been too flexible, when he’s been down. I’ve done everything and agreed to anything just to make him happy. (Come.) I really didn’t want him coming on my face. I was already kind of fragile, because things had been so off between us and I still hadn’t forgiven the masturbation incident. I still felt sort of rejected and brushed aside, because he hadn’t trusted in me in such fundamental things. And then he did the stupidest thing he could’ve. Exactly what all degrading porn ends with.

My emotional reaction to the thought was to feel utterly replacable and put in a role I didn’t want to be in. I’m not your sex-crazy nympho dream girl! I deserve to be treated as equal. I deserve to choose.

He was sorry for it, but didn’t quite address the fact. He just brushed the situation aside by promising to state his intentions ahead of time. I really got no emotional cuddling. I was a bit upset and also angry. I hadn’t come although he thought I had. He had rushed me to an orgasm so that it was ruined, because he wanted to get to his. So I said, I’m gonna go play in the other room. Good night.

He didn’t say anything. He must have noticed how hostile the situation was in many ways, that something was wrong, but he did nothing. I haven’t asked his permission for masturbating after the incident. I did I think once, but it just didn’t feel right. I felt. I don’t know. I just couldn’t trust him. I didn’t want to give him the information about me. I didn’t trust him with my pleasure in any way. He made this comment when we were trying to settle the masturbation issue of his that I’m not the one masturbating all the time. It sunk in my stomach. It was so unfair to bring up. It was a low blow for sure and I’m not used to that kind of thing from him. I said so too, immediately, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurt me and that now he has to deal with the consequences. I also told him that I have never rejected him and then went on to masturbate, and that I would like to only have sex with him, if he only could.

So he doesn’t know that I’ve been horny as hell. I mean it. I’ve had to rub myself senseless twice a day and sometimes I’ve still had sex with him after that. This is the way I used to be. I haven’t been for a while, but this makes me think these hormones are doing something right, when they’re putting me back on my old normal state that has changed with the hard things we’d had to go through.

This wasn’t the end of it. He’s been so down – I mean he’s probably actually clinically depressed, but what can I do about it? – that I decided to surprise him. I made him an abundant snack kind of a thing with many cool things and put it in this old army lunch box we happened to have. I tried to give it to him in the morning, but his answer was I’m just about to run to work. I’m not gonna take that with me. I tried to explain what it was, but he just left and also left me in the hallway completely naked holding the fucking lunch box.

I cried a bit and then I put it aside. I realized what was wrong. What had been wrong in the masturbation incident, in the coming on my face and in many small discussions and situations that had went awry in the last month. He didn’t trust me. He didn’t trust me enough to ask me or talk about it with me. And he didn’t trust me enough to take the lunch box.

Later when we discussed it in bed, finally, after a grueling long day and drive home, he put it in words. He just couldn’t face being seen running with a box like that. He said he had cried in the car, when he found out what the box was about. But he had known it would be something nice. He just couldn’t face carrying the box. He would rather hurt my feelings and cause himself distress in other ways. Because he couldn’t.

I’ve known since the day we met that Wonderboy suffers from social anxiety. He’s been clinically depressed for over 10 years, had no friends, no contact with the outside world. So I know. I take it into consideration every time we go out or I plan something. But somehow. Somewhere. He started keeping it a secret from me. He started covering up the whys of it. And now he had to come clean, because I said,

That is too neurotic. You need help. I can’t help you anymore. It’s not right for you to hurt my feelings over and over again just because you can’t do any better. 

The same words he said to me not so long ago, but ages ago, when I “decided” to try to find a therapist.

His answer was surprising. I’ve been thinking the same thing. I think it’s going worse.

He said many things to me that night that were hard to bare. He said he was not completely unhappy, which brought back memories of my ex, who said he could probably never be happy. He did correct his words later and said he was happy with me, but those kind of things stick. He has made me feel like he is not happy with me. He has hurt my feelings just because there is no one else. He says he was protecting me, because there was so much stuff going on, and yeah, I get it, but it’s not like he can keep a secret. It’s not like I didn’t already know and try to cope with it. It’s just that we couldn’t discuss it, because he didn’t trust me enough to tell me.

I made him promise he was going to call a doctor and find a therapist. He said that he saw really no other way out. That he had tried, if this happiness with me would be enough and seen that it wasn’t. But he didn’t make any plans. Next week, he said. I said okay.

Today he accused me of not being there for him, because I said that it is his fault that he hurts my feelings. The conversation started when he said he had woken up at 2 am and that he was in no shape to fuck me when he got home. This is the day of ovulation. This knowledge had huge impact. It’s not only our sex life now, it’s also our dreams of having a baby that are going down the drain. He managed to fuck me wednesday, when I told him you don’t have to fuck, it’s enough if you just come inside me. In any way possible. It was a good game and made me seriously hot, thank god for being kinky!

Somehow still though he thought that he hand’t done anything and was comparing this situation to what we had before, but with me on the spot. I answered him in detail. I let him know, how long I’ve been biding my time, trying to help him cope without letting him know about it, how I’ve been suffering because of what he’s going through, but since he wasn’t ready to deal I could do nothing. And then I said it. Are you even serious about trying for a baby? Is there any point in me suffering from these hormones, if you won’t do your share? Is this a shit idea and should we just stop trying?

When I wrote it I actually thought that it might be better. If he’s so tangled up in his emotions. If he’s so hard to reach and make happy. Maybe he should gon inton therapy before we do anything else. I can’t handle having a baby with a man like this.

Wonderboy didn’t answer. Since I’ve been working on my emotional container I didn’t freak immediately. I waited, tried to do some work and was planning on going to the gym.

And then he sent me a text message. You know what was in it?

Okay then. I made a doctors appointment for monday. That’s a start.

I said I was proud of him. And I was. when he came home we hugged and kissed a little and now he’s already asleep. We didn’t fuck. Sometimes there are things that are more important.